


temptation

by freloux



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Background Clara Oswald/Twelfth Doctor, F/F, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22042204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Relationships: Zygon Bonnie/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	temptation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UniverseOnHerShoulders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/gifts).



Bonnie paces. Click, click, click. Her heels sound firm. Sharp. A contrast to Bonnie herself who, despite the bravado, seems to have something else simmering beneath the surface. Some kind of - pent up energy. Clara knows the feeling. Running, running, running, until the road runs out. At least she has someone to run with. Had. Where is the Doctor? His presence is always a constant. Was. He’ll be here soon, eventually. Right?

Click, click, click. All of it echoes around the pods where others, like Clara, are trapped. Clara can do nothing but watch. It’s a fruitless, helpless, awfulness, especially since it’s so. goddamn. annoying. At least she can breathe. In, two, three, out, two, three. She finds herself timing it to Bonnie’s heels. Her eyes slide left to right, left to right, following that bloody click, click, click.

“Stop.” Bonnie turns on a heel. _Skreeeeeee_. “I want you to _stop_.”

Clara wants to say _I was just_ breathing, but of course she can’t talk, can’t do anything, until Bonnie opens up her pod. Clara tries not to find the symbolism in the way the pod feels slippery as she stands up and takes Bonnie’s hand. Bonnie’s hand is warm, oddly so for the way the rest of her is so cold and urgent. Clara’s legs are shaky from disuse. Bonnie doesn’t seem to care, though, from the assessing way she sweeps her eyes over Clara. She lingers at Clara’s neck, the little swell of her breasts under that practical sweater, the set of her hips. Her expression is quizzical and assessing like she’s cataloguing something. Clara realizes that yes, Bonnie actually is. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be human. Bonnie wears Clara’s form uncomfortably like she’s itching from it. Her shoulders are set in a posture that keeps shifting. She’s always adjusting her shirt and smoothing it down.

Bonnie tugs Clara’s hand purposefully until they’re face to face. Mirrors. Bonnie frowns and stares deep into Clara’s eyes. It’s weirdly vulnerable. Clara takes a shaky little set of breaths - in, two, three - and finally looks away.

“What do you want?” Bonnie asks in a voice that is Clara’s and not Clara’s at the same time.

Clara startles. She’s not sure why Bonnie would be asking her. Bonnie’s supposed to be the one with the grand plan, the bazooka, the parachute, the boxes. Jesus, the idea to wear Clara’s form in the first place.

“I want to leave,” Clara says, frustrated. “Let me go.”

That’s when she sees that the question wasn’t genuine. It was a rhetorical little test. _Shows you how much of a teacher I really am_ , Clara thinks. She’d laugh if she didn’t think it’d scare Bonnie away and risk the situation even further.

“I’m not done with you,” Bonnie replies. She makes a little quirk of a smile. It’s unsettling because for all that Bonnie looks and pretends to act like Clara, that little smile is all Bonnie’s own. A reminder of just how weird this all is.

Bonnie lets go of Clara’s hand. Clara hadn’t even realized Bonnie was still holding it. She’d been too absorbed in watching Bonnie so carefully and trying to guard herself. But there’d been a bit of a dare in the mix, too, with that what do you want, hadn’t there. So, after a moment of taking that idea in her hands and turning it this way and that to assess it, Clara decides to capitalise on it. She leans forward and kisses Bonnie before either of them can flinch away.

Metallic with a trace of the human underneath. Bonnie’s lips are flat and unresponsive. Clara is disappointed and surprised at herself for it. She pulls away and just looks at Bonnie, flat, assessing. Bonnie returns the expression and kisses Clara back like it’s another dare.

There’s something odd infused in the kiss, perhaps by virtue of the fact that there are all these humans around who can only watch but not comment. Clara was never one for voyeurism. Bonnie doesn’t seem to mind. It’s not surprising though: she’s the one planning this whole world domination thing. Clara would laugh but her lips are kind of busy at the moment. Bonnie isn’t touching her. She doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself except just kiss. _You’re a teacher, aren’t you?_ some voice in Clara head points out. That voice sounds suspiciously like the Doctor. Reprimanding yet sarcastic and truthful and - Clara still hasn’t sifted through all those layers yet. Maybe she will after she stops guiding Bonnie’s hands but Clara doesn’t want to stop. Bonnie’s cautious. Clara used to be cautious. She left that behind a few trips on the TARDIS ago. So she tugs instead. Leads Bonnie’s hands up to her trenchcoat to undo the buttons.

The trenchcoat slides off and it’s like a shield has dropped, a switch has flipped, seriously Clara is an English teacher, she should know how to write better than that, how has she --

“Stop,” Bonnie says - whines, really. “I want you to _stop_.”

Again, Clara hasn’t said anything out loud, but Bonnie’s got enough Clara in her, evidently, to just sense when she’s spinning her wheels. Bonnie shifts at that point, turns -- not aggressive, since she’s been more than a twinge of that for the entire, what, five hours Clara has “known” her -- but more insistent and petulant. She starts whining again and Clara finally understands that the reason Bonnie wanted her to stop was that she just wanted Clara to focus entirely on her. Not in that worshipful Zygon way that’s apparently plugged into her but. Clara hands on Clara breasts, warm through the silk of Bonnie’s shirt. Bonnie is wearing a bra and for a brief, fleeting moment Clara is disappointed before she remembers that that can come off just as easily as that trenchcoat.

Clara grabs at it, eager, frustrated, and the buttons rip, scattering across the floor. They jump up around their feet. Bonnie would usually throw a fit. Indeed, it seems like she’s on the verge of it, but maybe she’s just on the verge of something else. There’s a high, angry color on her cheeks and her breath sounds shallow, even pained. Clara has been there enough times -- with Danny, with the Doctor, hell, with Jane Austen, and certainly with herself when none of the above would do -- to know what that means.

Clara wrings Bonnie through it, pushing Bonnie’s shirt open to grab at her breasts, fierce like a teenager. And Bonnie wails. It echoes around the walls of whatever this place is and rings loudly enough in Clara ears to almost get her close to coming, too. She ignores the determined ache between her legs for now to continue focusing on Bonnie. Now is not the time for a dare or a test.

It’s something she can use, isn’t it? Clara slides her hand up Bonnie’s thighs to get that wetness at its source. Not just wet, she finds, but soaked, dripping even through the - what is it she’s wearing? Something silky, surprisingly so.

“You got so wet for me, didn’t you?” Clara asks, sly and coaxing. Her tone has the Doctor’s inflection again and it suddenly makes her picture what it would be like if he was here. The vivid fantasy spills out in her head and she touches Bonnie like she wants to be touching herself. And it’s not as if she and the Doctor haven’t been intimate before; there’s been more than enough opportunity for it and the adrenaline carries them both through.

Bonnie nods, throat thick, as Clara describes it: the Doctor’s touch, rough and not quite knowing, and how it became more gentle over time. 

“Do you want me to touch you like that?” Clara asks, and Bonnie nods again. So Clara goes on and uses both hands to pull down Bonnie’s underwear so she can get a better angle to push two of her fingers right inside. Bonnie sighs and it’s the most delicious noise. Clara is rough with it at first, thrusting her fingers and twisting ever so slightly until she finds that nice little spot inside: softer skin and much, much more sensitive. That’s when she slows down and just strokes the pads of her fingers up against it, more out of curiosity than anything else.

Bonnie shudders as Clara pulls her fingers, beckoning, coaxing, but there’s no conclusion to it. Bonnie drips and slides between Clara’s fingers before catching hold of Clara’s wrist and drawing it away.

“Hm?” Clara asks. She raises an eyebrow.

“Too much,” Bonnie explains. She’s turned shy all of a sudden. It clicks into place for Clara: how overwhelming it must be for a body this new.

Clara wipes off her hand. She hugged Jane Austen after they kissed; she and the Doctor have hugged after he got used to it. Hugging Bonnie now, Clara knows, is wildly inappropriate. So she doesn’t. Instead she helps set Bonnie to rights (where did that coat go?). The Doctor, as ever, will arrive whenever he feels like it. She and Bonnie have better ways to pass the time.


End file.
